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“I insist. The deal was that I do your story so you can win the competition. Asking me surface-level questions won’t cut it,” he says, draping an arm on the back of the sofa.
“You don’t know that. And anyway, it doesn’t matter whether I win. Shouldn’t you, of all people, tell me that what matters most is to participate?”
A spontaneous laugh bubbles out of him. “That’s complete bollocks. I’m an athlete. I always play for the win.”
“Well, I’m no athlete, so . . .” It’s strange. I should be jumping at the chance to get this juicy story, but that’s not what matters the most anymore.
“Roxy,” he says, his gentle tone making my stomach twist. “If we’re doing this, we’re going full swing. Besides, you’ve gotten more than you bargained for on my end too. Don’t think I missed the way Emily talked to you the other night . . . I’m sorry.” His gaze has ramped back up to gale-force intensity, and I’m surprised I’m still sitting on the sofa at this point.
“Don’t be,” I squeak out, finding my voice again. “I was overweight in an all-girls school. I know how to handle girls like Emily.” Come to think of it, Emily is the skinnier version of Martha Templeton, the girl who tortured me all through high school.
His eyes dance with admiration. “Of course you do.”
A silence cloaks the room, but Wade breaks it by clapping his hands. “So, let’s do this. What do you want to know first?”
I hesitate, chewing on my lip. I do want to win, but he’s kept his private life a secret for a long time. I don’t want him to feel uncomfortable. “Are you sure?” I ask again, twisting my mouth. “Don’t do something you might regret just to help me win. This is your life we’re talking about.”
“I’m sure, Roxy. I think it’s time I finally told my story.”
Wade
Roxy presses the recorder and sets it on the table. I’ve always kept my past to myself, not wanting people to look at me and see only the poor kid I once was. I still don’t want that, but my career is more advanced now. So, it’s not exactly the juicy story it might have been ten years ago. Besides, this is for Roxy, so it’s a no-brainer. And I wasn’t lying. I always play to win.
“Okay,” she says, her voice trembling with hesitation. She clears her throat. “Can you tell me about your early childhood, then? Where are you from? Talk a bit about your parents, siblings.”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees as I begin. “I never met my father, and my mother was a drug addict. She left right after I was born. I have no recollection of her, and I haven’t heard from her since.” The words come out in a low mumble. “Me and my brother, Andrew—who’s four years older than me—got placed into foster care. You know all those things they say about the foster system? Well, it’s all true. Nobody gives a damn about you.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I clear it before pressing on.
“Social workers see you as a problem to be dealt with, and most foster families only take kids in for the money. We lived with five different families. In the first one, the dad had a bad temper. After a few weeks, my teacher reported his abuse, so we were placed elsewhere. But the others weren’t much better. One only fed us every other day. Another made us do the housework and the gardening. We complained to the social worker, but eventually, we stopped. Moving around so much was even worse than being stuck with a rubbish family. Always the new kid with the tattered clothes and the bad haircut. We did terribly in school. Not because we were dumb, but because we never stayed on long enough to finish the program.” I glance away for a second, fighting off the memories that threaten to overwhelm me. I remind myself that this is all behind me now. It got better.
“I was always good at sports, though. That was the only constant. Every time someone threw me a ball, I’d keep it for as long as I could, dribbling it from one foot to the other, or sometimes performing tricks. When I was a teenager, I started to mow lawns around the neighbourhood to make some cash. My first buy was a pair of Ivory trainers.”
“Wow,” Roxy breathes out, a genuine smile teasing her lips. The kind of smile that makes all your troubles disappear, and you want to hold on to it forever. “You must be extremely proud to be representing them today.”
I grin. “I am. It’s like I came full circle.”
“When did you realise you wanted to be a pro footballer?”
“Not long after. Armed with my new trainers, I was an even better player, and with my brother’s encouragement, I started dreaming. But there was a license fee to get into a club, and no one would pay mine. So, my brother started to work in a car shop when he was sixteen. Everything he earned went to me. We used his salary to purchase the license fee, but we also invested in the necessary gear. It was all second-hand, but it didn’t matter—I was on the field and playing.”
“So, you’ve always been close to your brother?”
I nod quickly. “I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up, but I had Andrew. He was always there for me. He’s my biggest role model, and he protected me at all costs. I owe him a lot.”
“That sounds like a beautiful relationship,” she says, her blue eyes warming. “He must be proud of you.”
“I think he is, yeah.” I smile, a bittersweet feeling seeping into my chest. I wish he could see me play more often. “He sacrificed so much for me.”
She tilts her head to the side. “How did you make it to the pros?”
“I trained harder than anyone else. Always the first to arrive and the last to leave at practice. I spent every day at the gym and every night watching tactical videos. Football was my entire life—it still is.” A big part of it, at least. “My dedication and skills eventually paid off. When I turned eighteen, a League Two club scouted me out. It wasn’t much, but I was finally making a living playing football. My dream was coming true. I worked harder than ever, and after a year, I got picked up for the national team, and my current club recruited me not long after that.”
She scribbles something down, and after a moment, she continues. “What’s the hardest thing about being a footballer?”
“Living with a collection of constant fears,” I reply with no hesitation.
She draws her eyebrows together. “Fears?”
